The Dallas daily herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1887, 1887-02-15
TlG PGrlS Of Authorship

preston as she tOyeu WIN ner teaspoon
and tried to finish her roll, and coffee.
John had just left her for his Office.
They had been married three months,
and the serious aspects of life were for
the first time presenting themselves.
The problem of income and outgo
had made fair showing on paper. A
small apartment-fuel and gas includ-
ed-one servant and with such loads
Of wedding presents, absolutely moth
ng to buy, they could actually save
money. But, somehow, there were
leaks which had not been considered.
and ten dollars covered much smaller
amount in time and space than John or
Mildred had supposed.
Il wish | could do something to help
John, thought Mildred, as she gazed
abstractedly out of the window. HE
has to work so hard" and she gave a
little sigh.
What can / do?" she pondercd.
What can | doP" she asked herself
again and again, as with deft touch she
Strengthened and arranged the dainty
apartment.
Suddenly her face looked as if a door
had opened and Hooded it wit sun
light.
II know what will do; | will write
a story. know | can if | try. People
DO not have to be so awfully clever to
DO that. 1t is knack, not talent.
There is Mrs. -, who has made heaps
Of money; and her stories are only poor
.rash-all of them. John says so,
Before another hour had passed the
outline of plot was dancing in her
excited young brain, and as soon as she
could get the time she sat down with
pad and sharpened pencil. Then came
pause. How shall it beginP"
She drew little geometric figures on
the margin of her paper MS she reflect
3D., her thoughts seeming to revolvc in
circle, returning even to the place
rom whence they started. Finally she
wrote:
"In small village on the banks Of"
"Oh, that is so commonplace. No;
that will not do" And she tore off the
irst sheet of her pad and reflected
again. then wrote:
Frank Atwood was the only son of
a"
mo, no; that is too stupid" and the
second sheet of the pad went into the
waste paper basket.
She recalled what John had said of
ihe superiluous three pages, which
might with benefit to most stories be
eliminated-for John was a journalist
and literrry critic, and his standard and
ideals were Just on the measure of her
own. So she thought with great defer
snce of what he had said about tedious
preambles
"He is right" she said with decision.
1T is the personal interest in the char
acters which we are looking for in read
ing story. All that comes before
that is tedious superfluity.
II will dash right on with letter
from the heroine, which win at once
explain the situation" So with the con-
ldence which came from feeling her
self at last on the right track, she
wrote:
DEAR FRANK. / return herewith
he letters. which of course | have now
no right to keep. ! need not tell you
what il costs me.
81 have reflected much upon what
you said Yesterday, but | am at last re-
solved. will not see you again. Any
attempt to make me break the resolve
will be fruitless God knows YOU have
only yourself to blame that this mar
rage has
please, ma'am." said the cook. COM
.ng suddenly in upon the young author
sss. please. ma'am, the butcher is
here. Will You come and see him and
give the order yerself about havin'
them chops frenched or whatever it
is."
"Oh. what bore" sighed Mildred.
II was just getting into the swing OF
t." Aud she left the manuscript upon
her desk to be resumed later.
The matter of the chops disposed of
here were other things requr ng atten-
lou.
At last. however, she was at her desk
again. She red over the letter with
which her story opened to see how it
sounded. Really, she said. II think
hM starts off very well. and then she
ook up the broken thread. only
Yourself to blame that this marriage
las-" A violent ringing at the tele-
phone again broke the current. "Hel-
o." sa d our young novelist.
Mildred. is that you?"
Yes, is il YOU. Alice?"
yes. Mamma does not feel very
veil and W shes you to take luncheon
With us. She has sent the carriage.
Be ready TO come rs soon as it ar